


Grantaire's Demons

by Lovely_Sunshine_22



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Boggarts, Child Abuse, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Lots of sads, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Pining Grantaire, Sad Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely_Sunshine_22/pseuds/Lovely_Sunshine_22
Summary: Today's Defense against the dark arts lesson was combating a boggart. Easy enough, right?Nothing has ever been easy for Grantaire.or which Grantaire's boggart turns into his abusive father and Enjolras realizes the difference between loathing someone and loving them as he helps Grantaire come clean.{If there are any tags missing please let me know in the comments <3}





	Grantaire's Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Big, big, big warning for Child abuse like, shit dude.

Today’s DADA subject was not one Grantaire had been looking forward to. He had known it was coming, he’d known for a while, but that didn’t prepare him for the actual class. Nothing could. Today’s lesson would be confronting a boggart.

Grantaire stood next to Joly and Courfeyrac as everybody watched the teacher demonstrate the counter spell. They watched in awe as the massive snake in the far end of the room changed into a smaller snake wearing a skirt and a bowler hat that then started yodeling at just a single word. But Grantaire couldn’t help but think that the latter was so much more terrifying than the former. 

“It’s simple.” the professor began, “After the boggart turns, you must look at it with as much determination as possible and think of a way to turn it into something funny, something positive. Point your wand at it as you cast the spell, ' Riddikulus.'  Let me hear you say it.” she instructed, gesturing to the students. Grantaire’s year had always been mixed with the other houses due to the small amount of students in his year. So the group was a colourful mix of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Slytherin and Ravenclaws. It had taken a lot of rearranging on Professor Mcgonagall's behalf, but all the classes Grantiare's year had had all of the houses at the same time.

“ _ Riddikulus _ ,” The group chanted, somewhat unsure of themselves. The professor gave them a look.

“Come on! You lot can do better than that!  _ Louder _ ! Riddikulus!” She shouted, it boomed through the classroom. The class followed suit, shouting with a much conviction they could muster. “That’s better.” She laughed, her northern accent thick. “Now, everybody get in line. You’re gonna try and do this yourselves now.” 

When everybody had gotten into a semi-single file line and quieted down, the professor opened the closet she had forced the boggart into earlier, letting the first fifteen year-old have his go.

Grantaire watched as Marius, who had been forced to the front by a snickering Courfeyrac and Bahorel, pointed his wand at the boggart who had taken the shape of a dying Cosette. Everybody knew that the freckled boy fancied the Gryffindor but nobody realized that her death was his greatest fear. The artist heard Cosette gasp behind his as they all watched Marius stammer a weak  _ riddikulus.  _

“Come on, Marius! Louder, determination!” The professor encouraged. Marius nodded without taking his eyes off of Cosette’s dying form. 

“Riddikulus!” He shouted and they all watched as the boggart turned into a Cosette who was dancing by herself, humming along to a melody none of them could hear. The professor clapped, the others joining in.

“Good job Marius. Next!” 

Grantaire waited anxiously as the line got shorter and shorter. Soon it was going to be his turn and he really didn’t want it to be. He could only imagine what his greatest fear would be. With the shit going through his mind on a daily basis anything was possible. But none of it was something he wanted his classmates knowing and definitely not his teacher either.

Before he knew it was only Joly who stood in front of him, pointing his wand at the disease-bearing and rotting corpse covered in pus-filled blisters and gurgling vomit. Honestly, Grantaire was debating on making that his biggest fear. The cynic couldn’t help but scrunch his nose up at the smell. Joly was quick to cast the counter spell, desperately wanting to get rid of whatever monster was in front of him. Grantaire watched with a smile on his face as the corpse turned into Madam Pomfrey, the school matron. Joly sighed with relief but as he moved away to stand next to other students Grantaire realized it was his turn. His heart started beating rapidly as he shakily pulled out his wand and waited for the Boggart to reveal his biggest fear.

He couldn’t describe the awful feeling in his stomach as he saw what the boggart had turned into. He heard loud gasps from the other students as his father appeared in front of him. The tall man had his forever cold look on his face as he looked down at Grantaire with disdain. It was how he had always looked at Grantaire. The artist should have gotten used to it by now, but he never did. It was always painful to see his dad look at him like that. The artist curled in on himself. Not daring to look at the figure.

“Oh, so you’ve found your way back to my feet.” his father began, “You think you belong here. No, no you don’t. You’re a disappointment to this family and useless as a wizard. Not only are you a failure you’re also queer. I did not raise a faggot. Your mother would be just as disappointed in you as I am.” He spat. Grantaire had tears in his eyes as he hyperventilated, trying to come up with a response. He looked up at his father- because suddenly Grantaire forgot that this was merely a boggart. This was real to him.

“No, no, father. I’m- I’m not, I swear I’ll be good, I’ll be everything you want me to be and I'll make you proud just- just give me a chance please! I'm sorry, just please don’t hurt me.” The artist pleaded as he had done so many times before. His father only laughed in response.

“You will never live up to any expectations I have and you are not allowed to speak back to me like that.” When Grantaire saw his dad raise his hand, he flinched back as his body had started doing automatically at this point. He closed his eyes as he pulled back.

But the blow never came. He felt himself being pushed to the side as someone stepped in front of him. He opened his eyes to see his beautiful Apollo standing in front of him. The blond stood with his chest puffed out and chin held high.

“ _ Riddikulus _ !” Enjolras shouted angrily, the boggart hadn’t even had time to turn from Grantaire’s father to Enjolras’ greatest fear before his shot all the way back towards the closet in was being stored in, the professor shutting and locking it quickly.

Grantaire collapsed to his knees as he felt his world crumble. Everybody knew. All his friends knew.  _ Enjolras _ knew. They all knew about the abuse he went through at home. All the insults his father threw at him as Grantaire sobbed on the floor, much like he was doing at that moment. 

Suddenly he felt arms wrap around him. He opened his eyes to see Joly holding him. The Ravenclaw had tears in his eyes as well. Grantaire simply buried himself into Joly’s chest and cried as the other slowly rocked them back and forth, in a soothing manner.

Everybody was silent as they absorbed the information the boggart had just given them. Enjolras stood above the two staring down at the Hufflepuff he’d always thought so annoying and disruptive. He was finally able to see past the cynicism and sarcasm only to see a scared teenage boy who buried his feelings in self-deprecating humour and the alcohol he somehow always managed to sneak into the school. He saw a boy who didn’t believe in anything because nothing had ever believed in him. Enjolras knew that Grantaire’s mother had died during childbirth and that he’d been raised by his father, and a grandmother who had recently passed away as well. So that meant Grantaire was left only with his father. 

His abusive father. Suddenly Enjolras saw red with anger at any one who had ever touched Grantaire. He stepped up to Grantaire and Joly and crouched down. Joly gave him a look of warning but when he saw how Enjolras’ face softened at the sight of Grantaire, his own did the same. Joly knew that both boys harboured feelings for the other to some extent, one more than the other. But maybe seeing Enjolras would help Grantaire. He loosened his grip on Grantaire, bringing him back to reality. Grantaire pulled back, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He sniffled as he turned from Joly to look at Enjolras. The worry on the other man’s face would have warmed Grantaire’s heart if he didn’t know it was only because of the knowledge the blond now had. Now was not the time for that though.

“Thanks, Apollo.” he rasped, stealing his face into a familiar smirk, his heart wasn’t in it though, even Enjolras noticed that. The blond slowly reached out, giving the artist the chance to pull away, before placing his hand on Grantaire’s jaw. He thought Grantaire would pull back, but to his surprise Grantaire simply closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. His face smoothed out and he sighed at the contact. Enjolras looked at Joly who didn’t look at all surprised at Grantaire’s action. 

The three heard their professor ushering everybody out in the background but it didn’t matter at the moment. Joly slowly released Grantaire’s shaking form and stood up as Enjolras reached out to cup the other side of the artist’s face, sitting down in front of him. Grantaire opened his eyes at the contact, searching Enjolras’ face for any sort of disgust or distaste as he’d seen on the revolutionary’s face so many times. There was none.

“Grantaire.” He began resolutely, “How- how long has this been going on?” Enjolras asked his, desperately trying to keep his voice from breaking. Grantaire chuckled, but there were still tears streaming down his face.

“What? My dad hating me?” he looked away from Enjolras with a pained smile, “Probably since I killed my mum by being born.” He said it so honestly, Enjolras realises that Grantaire truly believes he killed his mother. 

“Grantaire, your mother’s death isn’t your fault.” Grantaire’s smirk slipped from his face as Enjolras continued, “And no, that’s not what I was asking. When- when did your father start abusing you?” Grantaire flinched at the question. He’d never heard anyone say it out loud, not even he had said it. Because saying it out loud made it real and Grantaire didn’t want it to be real. 

Grantaire thought of a way to excuse himself, but he knew that there was no way out of this. But should he confess? Enjolras knew that his father- that his father... his father  _ beat _ him, did Grantaire really want him to know more. What would happen to his father if he told Enjolras what he’d done. Would his father go to prison? Where would Grantaire live? He would be at Hogwarts during the school year and during the holidays, but where would he end up during the summertime? 

The cynic looked back up into Enjolras' kind but determined blue eyes. Maybe it was time, maybe it was time to finally reveal one of his deepest secrets. And to whom else other than his beloved Apollo. It’s not as if the blond could hate him anymore than he already does. Grantaire always thought he'd accidentally confess it to Joly or Bahorel- even Éponine whilst drunk. But no, this is how his father will be exposed.

"The memory is one hard to forget, but I do not wish to burden you oh great leader of the revolution with a common mortal's problems-" 

Enjolras' growl made Grantaire stop talking. “Please, Grantaire, stop. For once in your life be serious.” Couldn’t Grantaire see how important this was? This wasn’t the time for his antics and jokes. “I want to help you. But I can’t if you don’t tell me what your father did to you.” 

Grantaire’s face fell as he stared at Enjolras, his brows furrowed. “Enjolras, you’ve never cared about me ever, why are you doing this? Are you thinking: Oh here’s a fucked up guy with an awful childhood, who already has a drinking problem, this would be the perfect next project!” Grantaire sounded hurt, Enjolras hated it. Grantaire made a move to get away but Enjolras held on to him, desperate, shaking his head.

“No! Grantaire, I- I care about you just like every other member of Les Amis and I  _ beg _ of you Grantaire. Tell me when this started.” Grantaire was shocked. He’d made a god beg, beg to  _ help him _ . 

“I was seven.” He blurted out without meaning to. He knew he could never deny Enjolras anything. “I mean, that’s when he first  _ hit _ me.” he took a shaky breath, “For as long as I can remember he would push me around if I got in the way, he’d tell me how useless I was and has always blamed me for my mum’s death- because well, it  _ is _ . It  _ is _ my fault. If I hadn’t been born she would still be alive and happy. They could've been happy.” The tears had returned to Grantaire’s eyes. Enjolras wanted to cut in so badly, tell the dark haired boy that he was wrong, so so wrong. But Grantaire needed to get this out. So Enjolras let him talk.

“I was seven,” Grantaire continued, “I- I was going through some old things I’d found in the attic. I knew I wasn’t supposed to go up there but y’know I, I was just a kid and I didn’t know any better and-” He had to stop himself to take a deep breath. “I found a box of my mum’s things.” Grantaire had this distant look in his eyes. Enjolras’ heart ached with how haunted they looked. “I took the box down to my room and went through it. It was the closest I’ve ever felt to her.” the side of the artist’s mouth quirked up before his face darkened again. 

“But then he- he came into my room looking for me and when he found me with mum’s stuff he, uh, he got really angry. He- he told me that I didn’t deserve to look at her things. That I would just taint her memory. And I, for the first and the last time in my life talked back to him. I told him that I should be allowed to remember her as well. She was my mum, for fucks sakes.” He gave a pained chuckle and shook his head. “He didn’t like that, no.” that was the last thing Grantaire said before going silent again. 

Enjolras looked at the cynic in horror. He breathed heavily as he pulled Grantaire to his chest, every instinct in his body telling his that he needed to do everything in his power to keep the boy safe. 

“When he found out I was gay, I didn’t know whether I would survive or not. The entire time I heard my grandmother screaming at him as kicked me, over and over. Usually he would use magic, but he thought a good “muggle beating” would do me some good. Surprised I didn't end up in a hospital, to be honest.” He whispered into Enjolras’ chest. Enjolras held Grantaire tighter at the confession. 

“The thing is, I didn’t even come out to him. I hadn’t come out to anyone. He found my drawings…” He’s gone too far, he’s said too much, oh God. Oh God. Oh fuck.

“Drawings of what Grantaire?” Enjolras pulled back to look Grantaire in the eye. Enjolras looked so earnest, like he truly cared. Grantaire would take a beating for this boy any day. The artist gave him a weak smile as he looked up at him in complete adoration. 

“Drawings of you. Paintings, sketches- you fuckin' name it.” 

There it was, it was out. Grantaire had finally said it. He hadn’t confessed but any man with a brain cell or two can figure this out. 

“What- what do you mean?” Enjolras’ eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the cynic. Grantaire made a wounded noise and Enjolras gripped him tighter. 

“Please, Enjolras, don’t make me say it out loud. You can't be that cruel.” Grantaire begged him, not daring to look his Apollo in the eye. He heard Enjolras’ breath hitch. He must have put two and two together.

“You- you, me?” Enjolras stammered dumbly. After all the things that revolutionary had said to him, how could Grantaire not hate him? He’d been an awful friend to him.

“I thought it was going to be you, to be honest.” Grantaire confessed. His voice still strained from crying. Enjolras looked down at the boy against his chest in confusion. 

“Me?” He asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I thought the boggart would turn into you. I thought it would be you who told me all of that. Told me how useless I am and how much of a disappointment I've been.” The pit in Enjolras’ stomach was so heavy he thought he was about to throw up. “It’s not like I didn’t know already and both you and my dad had already told me all these things but still. It still hurts, y’know.” Grantaire had given up on not saying anything, now that he’d started talking he couldn’t stop, no matter how mortifying everything coming out of his mouth was. 

Grantaire finally braved looking up at the blond shocked to see tears streaming down Enjolras’ face. Grantaire couldn’t help the let the shock show on his face, only making Enjolras’ cry harder. It was silent, nothing more that tears running down his cheeks but in Grantaire felt awful. He’d done this to Enjolras, he’d made him cry. He should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“I’m sorry.” someone said. Grantaire was surprised when he realised that it wasn’t him. “I’m so, so sorry, Grantaire.” Enjolras said, his voice breaking. Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras’ chest to look at him. What was he apologizing for? Grantaire should be the one apologizing!

“What the fuck are you apologizing for?” Grantaire asked, looking at Enjolras in bewilderment. 

Enjolras unwrapped his arms from Grantaire and reached up to cup his face with both hands, making the dark haired boy look at him. Enjolras finally realised what this emotion inside him was. He finally understood that the butterflies, the feeling of his blood boiling, the lightheadedness he felt when he was around Grantaire wasn’t loathing. It was affection,  _ love _ even. He had misunderstood everything and failed Grantaire. He hadn’t been there for him when he obviously needed him, instead making the situation worse with his bad timing and hurtful comments.

“I am so sorry Grantaire,” He repeated, the tears not ceasing to fall. “I’ve failed you so miserably. I wasn’t there when you needed me, I’ve treated you horribly and you deserve so much better.” Enjolras kept firm eye contact as he spoke. 

Grantaire’s eyes scanned Enjolras’ face frantically trying to figure out what  _ the fuck _ was happening. Enjolras didn’t let him think about it for long because he pulled him closer and leaned his forehead against the cynic’s. Grantaire only gasped before leaning into the touch. 

“I’m sorry Grantaire. Tell me how I can fix this. Tell me how I can help you.” He begged, his eyes still closed. 

“I don’t know, but this- this is a good start.” Enjolras opened his eyes at this. The two simply sat, staring into each other’s eyes. Grantaire almost started crying again because  _ no one _ had ever looked at him like that. Of course Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel and Éponine cared about him but not like  _ this _ . He couldn’t help the single tear that escaped his eye, Enjolras wiping it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“Why are you crying?” He asked, he’d thought things were okay, well, as okay as they could be in their situation. Grantaire smiled and nodded, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Nobody had ever looked at me like you just did. In the sixteen years that I have lived, nobody had ever looked like they actually, genuinely cared for me, maybe even-” Grantaire stopped himself before he said too much. He didn’t want to fuck up this moment by making Enjolras uncomfortable with his stupid feelings. 

“Can I kiss you?” Enjolras blurted out. He  _ never _ says things without thinking first, except in Grantaire’s case, he can’t ever even think around the other boy. Grantaire’s breath hitched at the question before nodding slowly. The revolutionary smiled so brightly Grantaire thought he was gonna go blind. It was the greatest thing Grantaire had ever experienced. 

Enjolras leaned forward to catch the artist’s lips in a chaste kiss, testing the waters. When Grantaire didn’t pull back he initiated another. This kiss was deeper, it lasted longer. It was all Grantaire had ever dreamed of, better. The way Enjolras moved one of the hands cupping Grantaire’s face to grip the cynic’s hair had Grantaire moaning into the kiss. The two only broke apart to breathe when Enjolras pulled back, Grantaire chasing his lips. Enjolras smiled before leaning back into another kiss. This time the revolutionary felt braver and opened his mouth to prodd his tongue at the seam of Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire gasped as he opened his mouth in response, accepting Enjolras’ tongue into his mouth. 

Grantaire didn’t think he’d ever been this happy before, he couldn’t help the words that escaped from his lips when they broke apart to catch their breath.

“I love you.” 

Enjolras tensed and Grantaire wanted to scream because he’d fucked it up. He’d said to much and now Enjolras was going to hate him and leave him. He’d never let him come to another L’ABC meeting, he’d never be able to see his friends again and-

“I love you too.” 

Grantaire’s world came to a full stop. What.

“What? What do you mean? You can’t possibly-” He tried but Enjolras cut him off with a peck on the lips. 

“I’ve loved you for so long, but I didn’t realize how much until now. I know it’s too late but if you’d let me I’d love to stay by your side. Help you when you need it.” 

Grantaire couldn’t explain how he felt in that moment, it was so much. Enjolras loved him. Him, Grantaire; the most annoying and needy problematic, disaster gay since the beginning of time. How? He stopped thinking about it. He was going to enjoy it. He finally had what he wanted, what he’d always wanted. 

“Yes, yes. For as long as you can put up with me and my problems I’ll be yours. I’ve always been yours.” Grantaire stated honestly. It was the truth, he’d always secretly regarded himself as Enjorlas’. He suddenly realized something.

“You can’t tell anyone about my dad.” He suddenly spoke, his voice wavered. 

Enjolras looked down at him, appalled. “Grantaire! What do you mean? Of course I’m going tell someone. Your father is- and has always been- abusing you! This is serious and you can’t continue on like that!” He spoke, his voice firm, not unlike when he’s talking about equality or his other causes. Grantaire’s heart fluttered at the thought of being as important to the revolutionary as his causes. But he couldn’t help but worry at his words.

“No, Apollo, you can’t, I-I don’t have anywhere else to go. My dad is the only thing I have.” He begged, Enjolras looked at him with a look of determination.

“No.” Grantaire looked up at his (Lover? Boyfriend?) Apollo, who seemed to glow with conviction. “You have me. For as long as I live, you will never return home to that man. He will never lay a hand on you again.” 

“Okay.” the soft reply was the only thing he could manage.

Enjolras looked into Grantaire’s eyes and for the first time in his life, Grantaire felt like things would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this. I hope you uh, enjoyed...it? Ikd. This idea came to me and I for some reason could not physically continue my chapter fic until I'd written this. So, here ya go. 
> 
> Disclaimer, this was written in like three hours at midnight on nothing but coffee and determination so I'm sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. Rushed ending too, sorry.
> 
> <333333333


End file.
